


Azure and Emerald

by Kit



Category: Immortals - Tamora Pierce, PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Gen, Goldenlake, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit/pseuds/Kit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arram Draper has never known what to make of his best friend. But Ozorne has always loved birds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Azure and Emerald

“ _Arram_. They’re hardly going to bite you.”

There was a great deal to be bewildered by at Carthak’s university, the place of sand and spire that brought him languages his father did not even think to exist. And over one year in—with an Adept’s skill and more sliding beneath his skin, and younger students who stuttered and called him “Sir,”— Aram Draper still could not believe the company he kept.

Ozorne Muhassin Tasikhe looked as if he could not believe his friend had made out of bed that morning. He grinned, eyes light and taking on amber from the tiles that lined this Imperial hallway.  The surly, pinched-faced friend who had locked himself away during exams was nowhere in sight, this day. _This_ was the Prince who had sauntered up to Arram as he stood lost and awed and awkward in the University library, and told him that if he didn’t get his gawky self _away_ from the shelves concerning Thaumaturgical Surges, he’d find himself in the scorpion pit before morning.  (“And their diet is actually quite particular, and doesn’t run to gauche. Haven’t you ever _heard_ of a bow, wherever you’re from?”)

Ozorne sighed. “Please. I’d like you to see.”

“They’re not going to mistake me for a tree—”

“—and defecate?” The prince’s lip curled. “Don’t be so petty.”

“I’m not!” Arram flushed. “And I’m not _worried_ about—”

“—Birdshit?”

“They’re so small!” Ozorne had him now, was dragging Arram along the corridor, neat nails digging into his upper arm. “And your birds are tame enough that I might break them.”  He smiled, feeling the uncomfortable tilt and drag in his cheek. “I like _ravens_ , Your Highness. Great big black ugly things. Hard to step on.”

“No, hawks.” The Prince’s answering smile was swift and sweet as he pressed a hand to the magical lock of the next door, light flashing amber shot through with moss green.

“Excuse me?”

“You love _hawks_ , Arram,” he said, step quickening. “I’ve seen you watch them. If I thought you could look after one I’d have used your barbarian festival of Midwinter and found you a beauty, with a cage large enough for its wings. But you’d be terrible, of course.”

“...of course.” Arram swallowed, and found there was already another smile on his face. Softer and shyer, a little crooked. “That’s very gracious of you.”

“Of course it is. Come _on_.”

Ten more steps. Five. One more door which, as it opened, released coils of rich, complicated heat. Arram, drawing out of his friend’s grasp to follow a little behind, watched Ozorne’s shoulders slump a little, and taut lines in his neck relax. Wings flashed, flickering the colours they had already up given to jewels. Azure and emerald. Splashes of every tourmaline from rose to dark.  The air was crowded with chitters and squeaks, and Ozorne laughed as the click of the door closing behind them  was lost in a rush of small bodies and smaller voices turned something large and bright. He opened his hand. With a magic that had nothing to do with power and all with childhood practise, seed was there. “ _Beautiful_ ,” he said. “My birds. My lovely creatures. _Aren’t_ they, Arram?”

Standing stark and bare branched contrast to his friend’s seethe of life, Arram smiled. “Friend,” he said. “You all are.”


End file.
